


The Best Laid Plans

by ghostlin



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Magical Artifacts, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Road Trips, Technology, norse mythology & folklore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlin/pseuds/ghostlin
Summary: Thor sends Loki to Earth on a quest to find an enchanted ring given in payment to the Midguardians centuries ago. Initially suspicious of the mortals, he quickly realises that it's hard trying to get any kind of help with an endeavour when nobody trusts you at all. 
Tony Stark finds, to his surprise, that he knows exactly where Loki is coming from.





	1. The Otter's Payment

Thor was having a bad day.

It was the worst kind of bad day, because he did not yet know where or to whom to direct his anger. He only knew that something was _afoot_. A thorn lay in the heart of Asgard’s throne room, and it had been spreading poison for many months.

Odin was gone.

Clutching his hammer’s handle in one fist and a small, unassuming vial of liquid in the other, he strode into the throne room, pointing Mjolnir's head at his father’s shadowy figure atop the throne. An imposter. He had known it on some level for many months, but had only yesterday stumbled upon a piece of incontrovertible proof.

“You!” He bellowed. It was difficult to loom over Odin’s form, set far above him, but he puffed up his chest as much as he could. “You know not where you sit, usurper! What have you done to the All-Father? Where does his spirit lie?”

The creature wearing Odin’s face merely blinked. He relaxed his hold on Gungnir, letting it settle into the crook of his elbow as he leaned forward.

“Thor, what is this?”

“Enough games,” Thor growled. “I’ve had my doubts, but you gave yourself away only yesterday,” he unstoppered the vial with his teeth, letting the cork roll away over the floor. “The real Odin, _my father_ , would have clearly recalled the tooth gift he presented to my cousin Tyr on the eve of his first Name Day!”

“I have presided over many gift givings over these long years,” Odin’s face remained impassive. “Forgive me, that one ship should have slipped my mind.”

“That vessel was hard won,” Thor’s voice trembled with anger. “This is falsehood! I have never known my father unable to render such a fact. Odin, once hailed on Midgard as a god of chronicle and poetry!”

“Many years ago,” Odin continued to regard Thor steadily. Now that Thor looked closely, properly, it seemed impossible that he could not have known it all along. The All-Father might yet live, but this... thing, it was a mere conjuration. It was wrong, false, right down to the eye currently fixed on Thor. “I grow weak, Asa. I grow weary.”

Thor wasn’t sure what did it; the calculated tremble in the voice of the imposter, or the half hearted attempt at emotional manipulation. Either way, the wave of rage that passed through him was such that he hurled the contents of the bottle at the false Odin, barely managing to suppress a crackle of thunder that threatened to push through the floor and create fissures through the slabs of marble.

To his shock, the water just… stopped, immobilised, before it could reach the pretender’s face. Odin’s form watched Thor through the clear, undulating liquid. He didn’t seem in any hurry to move out of its way.

“Not quite half a dozen months. You impress me, son of Odin; I had thought the ruse might hold for at least a year or two.”

Thor felt a heady mixture of vindication and fear pulse through him. Any kingly affectation in the imposter’s voice had fallen away. It sounded alien, coming from Odin, yet somehow oddly familiar nonetheless.

“I’m well used to trickery of all kinds,” Thor bristled, gripping Mjolnir's handle tightly. “Tread carefully; the character of this magic reminds me dearly of one not long ago lost.” In his peripheral vision, he watched his guards advancing, pinning the Odin-shadow in on both sides. Between them the water hung suspended in animation like mottled glass.

Odin’s expression twisted; it was an unfamiliar expression on so familiar a face. “I find you changed, son of Odin. So soon you soften toward the foster brother who, when he lived, gave you so much to grieve over.”

“You find me changed?” Thor paused. Something ticked in his subconscious, but he forced himself to concentrate. “Our shared grief changed many things. Loki may be nearing the gates of Valhalla, but he travels there knowing that I...” His voice caught in the back of his throat. Mjolnir slipped a little from his grasp. “I know not why this holds your interest.” He reached up, allowing his fingers to brush against a motionless water droplet. “This water was drawn from the well of Mimisbrunnr, you should not fear it. I only needed its command of knowledge, of _truth_ , to clean away the enchantment. Reveal yourself, cease this charade!”

He watched the pretender stand before Odin’s throne, finding himself unable to break eye contact.

The realisation came without fanfare. Thor knew it before the water flowed again, falling over Odin’s form, knew it even before the enchantment started to melt away to reveal the figure underneath.

“Loki.”

He could hardly bring himself to whisper the word.

Though he was free to move, Thor felt a strange sensation of powerlessness, as if _he_ were the one trapped in a corner. This could not _be_ . He watched Loki die in his arms, he’d returned to father empty handed, he’d been tricked, _again_ \--

“So,” Loki shook his head a little, dislodging a few drops of water from his hair and grinning. “You _did_ miss me, after all.”

“Guards!” Thor bellowed.

His rage crystallised into something incandescent, yet the knowledge that fuelled his anger bore him over the edge into something more resembling shock and, worst of all, a terrible kind of relief.

Loki remained straight backed, looking almost nonchalant as the guards seized him. The familiarity of it was painful; Thor had to remind himself that no chains bound him, that he could almost certainly escape with ease if he so wished.

He must want to talk.

Good. Thor wished it too.

“Impersonation is a criminal offence.” He kept his voice steady, hoping he sounded authoritative. “You have been impersonating the All-Father, carrying out your own desires at the expense of the realm in his stead. What say you, brother?”

“I’d say that your time spent on Midguard cannot all have been for nought. You’ve clearly adopted some of their legal vernacular.”

Loki’s gaze wasn’t quite as impassive now that he’d returned to his true form. There was something like triumph in his eyes (the thrill of a joke come to light, Thor remembered it well from their youth) yet something like joy, too.

Thor could not understand it. He just managed to keep the confusion, and the tremor, out of his voice.

“What of father?”

“Sleeping,” Loki’s expression sobered. “For many months now. It was the shock of the revelation that I still live, I think. He fell into the Odinsleep, and has not stirred since.”

“Forgive me, that I do not take your word for it.”

“I expect nothing less,” Loki’s mouth twisted ruefully. “Would you like to see him?”

 

\--

 

Their walk down to the vaults was filled with a long, strained silence, laid over a hoard of unasked questions. Thor didn’t know where to begin; his brother’s face looked softer and less drawn than it had in years, yet he didn’t seem very happy at the turn of events.

 _You let me grieve you a second time_ , Thor thought, staring at his brother’s immovable profile. _What of your reasoning? What of our grief?_

_What is your plan?_

They reached the door at the end of the corridor. Its heavily gilded design appeared almost to glow before them. As Loki murmured a few words, Thor realised that it was indeed glowing, with magic that dissipated into thin air as he watched.

“Your protective measures, I take it?” Thor murmured. He held out a hand to the guards, who still lingered at the end of the hallway, before following Loki through the door.

“Better than a shield and spear.” Loki darted a curious glance at Thor, and at the closed door behind them.

Thor only shrugged. “You have had plenty of chances to do away with me. Why now, in a locked, guarded room?”

Shaking his head, Loki strode over to the back of the vault, where Odin lay sleeping beneath a glimmering mist of enchantment. “That woman has done much to improve your faculties of reason.”

Thor elected to ignore this. “So. He sleeps.”

“Yes.” Loki wasn’t looking at Odin. He watched Thor carefully. “You must believe that I want to help. We have worked well together of late, have we not?”

“Believe?” Thor couldn’t prevent the bark of laughter that followed the word. “Hope, maybe.”

“Then hope for this,” Loki leaned over Odin’s body, the intensity of his gaze such that Thor couldn’t meet his eye for more than a moment. “I haven’t been idle. There’s something that may yet be able to revive Alfӧdr. Something he coveted long ago. It has the power to recover wandering souls.”

“What is this of which you speak?”

“A ring, lost to Midguard many centuries ago.”

“ _Midguard?_ ” Thor’s eyes narrowed. “To what ring are you referring? The one you gave in payment for killing that mortal?”

Loki didn’t appear to appreciate the accusatory tone with which he’d spoken. “It wasn’t intentional, he was in the shape of an otter at the time! How do you know of this? Reading the sagas isn’t exactly your province”

“When last I was on Earth, strange visions plagued me.” Thor frowned, watching the golden mist undulate lazily over Odin’s sleeping face. “Since then I’ve been trying to locate all magical objects that have been flung out to every corner of the Nine Realms. The Aether, the Mind Stone, the Tesseract --” he broke off. They looked at each other nervously for a moment. “The destructive wake following these magical artifacts has been plaguing the Nine Realms, and it’s only getting worse. The ring should be recovered.” He allowed himself another moment of silence to contemplate his father’s body. “If for no other reason than to protect the mortals.”

“I agree.” Loki met Thor’s eyes. The words seemed to surprise him as much as they did Thor.

They left the vaults, making their way back up to the palace, passing through the long gallery where the final reconstructive efforts were taking place. Any conversation was rendered scant due to the loud chiselling and hammering of the craftsman working on the vaulted ceiling. If anyone there was surprised by Loki’s sudden reappearance, they didn’t show it.

“I think you should leave sooner rather than later,” Thor said shortly, when they passed under an archway and broke out into the dim afternoon light of the south courtyard. “I fear for our negligence in these matters, and you are as expert on sorcery as any in the realm.”

“Surely…” Loki frowned. “Surely you aren’t proposing that _I_ recover the ring? From  _Midguard?_ Give it few centuries at least! Their ire toward me needs time to cool.”

“Ah, but you have ways and means to avoid detection!” Thor felt almost cheerful. As he landed a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder, he felt it could almost have been any other day, in any other century.

He and Loki, alive, strolling in the sunlight of the palace grounds. He had much to be thankful for.

“I have no allies on Midguard, no scepter, no _clue_ of where to start!” Loki glared, rounding on him. “This is a fool’s errand!”

“It was I who was the fool,” Thor strode on, leading them onto the Bifrost. “No more. No more trickery, no more lies. You’ll recover the strife metal from Earth as I continue with my research. We must work _together._ ”

“One can’t help but feel our roles are somewhat ill-adjusted,” Loki eyed the edge of the Bifrost, apparently unwilling to stray too close to the fathomless depth of space that lay beyond. “You _know_ Midguard. Let me puzzle through the sagas.”

“This quest is yours, Loki.” Thor said, resolute.

“I take it back about your faculties.” Loki bared his teeth, looking ready to run. “You’ve only grown more infuriatingly boar headed!”

“And we all thought you dead!” It came out louder than Thor had intended. He caught some flicker of emotion in his brother’s expression before it smoothed over once again. “Give me time to calm any ruffled feathers; do you think the Council Chamber will just accept your sudden _resurrection_ without explanation? Despite what you might think, I have learnt a thing or two about diplomacy of late.”

Loki looked as if he were seriously considering digging his heels into the Bifrost to keep from having to go any further. “Aren’t you worried for your mortals? What if I try to enslave them again?”

“You were king of Asgard for a good half year, and your most controversial decree involved the regulation of grain tax.” Thor all but held him by the elbow as he motioned for Heimdall to activate the Gate. “I have every faith in you, brother.”

“Are you authorizing this?” Loki sounded outraged, whirling to face Heimdall, who regarded him with poorly disguised amusement. “Does this seem a fair penalty to you?”

Heimdall merely glanced at Thor, before fixing Loki with his ancient, impassive gaze. “Penalty? Some would consider it an honour. As for your true question, I recognise Thor as Regent. He is my king.”

“Well,” Loki’s glare pierced Thor’s chest, but he sensed it was borne of frustration, now, rather than hatred. “I do not!”

“Of course you don’t. You forget,” Heimdall laughed. “I’ve known you since you were boys!”  
  
His laughter echoed as the light faded from the Observation platform, seeming to fall with Loki down, down, permeating into the fields and canyons, and the rivers and mountains of Miguard.


	2. An Unexpected Houseguest

It was an eternal dilemma: make a fresh pot of coffee and continue to draft her latest thesis paper on interspacial connectivity, or order a takeaway pizza and binge watch Doctor Who until she passed out on the sofa. 

Jane Foster glared at the digital display on the microwave as she shoved in her old coffee cup. After setting it to reheat, she wandered over to the window to stare out at the grey pavement below her tenement building. 

She briefly considered skyping Darcy, but figured that she may not appreciate being woken up at -- what was it in California, five or six in the morning? 

Pizza it was, then. Jane lingered at the window, staring out at the sheer greyness of London. Only a splash of red created by a passing bus surprised her; as she turned away from the window, the doorbell buzzed.

Two long, impatient peals. 

Strange. She wasn’t expecting anyone. 

Frowning, she approached the door, peering through the peephole. 

What she saw made her stumble backwards, peering around furtively as if someone were there to tell her she wasn’t going crazy, that  _ yes _ , the man standing there on her doormat was  _ actually _ \--

Swearing under her breath, she scrabbled around for her handbag, drawing out a small, and ultimately useless, canister of pepper spray. But she’d be damned if she went into this confrontation unarmed.

She yanked the door open and held the canister at arm’s length, aiming it directly into Loki’s somewhat bemused face. 

_ “You!”  _ Jane blinked hard a couple of times, just to see if he might disappear. He didn’t. “You were  _ dead! _ You died on Svartalfheim!”  
  
Loki only raised his eyebrows. “Is this how Midgardians typically receive houseguests?”

Jane just about managed to bite down the urge to shout. Instead, she looked out into the corridor, checking that the coast was clear, before grabbing Loki by the lapel and ushering him inside.  
  
“Fear not, I made my disguise quite serviceable,” he shook her off, straightening his collar. His clothes were of Earth design; a tailored shirt under a neat overcoat. “Why is it that everyone feels the need to _grab_ me today?”

“Everyone?” Jane breathed. 

She had about a million questions. His presence didn’t unnerve her so much as astonish her. What had happened since they’d last met? Did anyone else know he was alive? Did  _ Thor _ know?

“Yes,” Loki sounded irritated. “Thor rules Asgard for the time being. I am on Earth at his…  _ request _ . I mean you no harm.”

Glowering, Jane dropped the pepper spray onto an end table. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

He looked as if he were ready to contest this, but at that moment, the microwave chimed.

Jane wandered back into the kitchenette and retrieved her reheated coffee. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Loki’s frown. “What? You saved my life, remember? I doubt you’re here to check in, so you must’ve come for some other reason.”

“I have need of your assistance.” Loki said stiffly. “Somewhere on Midgard, there’s an artifact. It fell into human hands many centuries ago. I seek to recover it.”

Jane raised the coffee cup to her lips, watching him from behind the rim. She heard his unspoken reminder, and it rankled; she  _ did,  _ in fact, owe him a favour. 

“Coffee?” She noticed his startled expression and smiled. “Whatever my mother says, some Earth manners haven’t passed me by.”

He accepted the mug she offered him with only a little trepidation, and they went to sit in the armchairs by the window. Another Asgardian had spent many hours curled up in that armchair. The thought gave her a pang, but she decided to keep it to herself. 

“So,” She tucked her feet up. “What’s this artifact look like?”

“A ring. A ring of great power, although I knew it not at the time.” At her questioning look, Loki sighed. “I  _ may  _ have been the one to deliver the ring to the humans. In my defence, I sought only to keep the peace. It’s a long story, but it seemed integral at the time to keep it out of Odin’s hands.”

Jane leaned forward, coffee forgotten. “Why?”

“It was said to be cursed,” Loki said carefully. “To be the downfall of whosoever should possess it.”

Her lips twitched, but she was quick to conceal it. “Mythology? Not exactly my area.”

“Maybe so, but among mortals, you alone know what it is to be possessed by a dark, powerful entity. The aether almost tore the realms apart. The ring should be likewise safeguarded. It belongs on Asgard.”

She must not have looked convinced; after a moment, his shoulders slumped. “I also -- lack Midgardian allies, it has to be said.”

“Destroying half a city’ll do that,” she muttered. “Look, I’m not sure how much help I can be. This all sounds like some kind of fantasy epic, and even if there  _ were _ some kind of magical ring somewhere on Earth, it could’ve gotten anywhere between now and --” she gestured wildly. “Five hundred AD, or whatever! Do you even know  _ where _ you gave it away?”

Loki looked a bit sheepish. “There were… hills, I think. And a river.” 

“Seriously?”

“I was distracted!” His eyes widened imploringly; she had to stop herself from giggling. “It was a  _ delicate _ situation -- there may have been -- rocks? It mattered not, I was busy! It was hundreds of years ago!”

“Hills. River. Rocks.” Jane pursed her lips, setting her coffee down absentmindedly beside a shiny stack of Discover magazines. “That narrows it down.”

“I may have many tricks up my sleeve, but even  _ I _ can’t go back in time!” 

The magazine at the top of the pile slid to the floor, pages fluttering. She bent to pick it up. “Look, you’re gonna need more to go on than some… vague…” She broke off, staring at the cover.

“Are you well?” Loki frowned. “Foster?”

Wordlessly, she handed him the magazine. “Well. Step one to finding a thing. Figure out exactly where you left it in the first place.”

The cover caught in the fading afternoon light. 

It bore the legend: ‘The Science of Memory: Stark Industries Uncovers New Possibilities With Latest Retro Framing Technology.’

Underneath, taking centre stage with a broad grin across his face, stood Iron Man.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki didn't want the ring to fall into Odin's hands in the Edda because Odin seemed especially tempted by it, and it did immediately start causing problems on Earth, so that was probably a good shout. 
> 
> My headcanon for Jane Foster's favourite DW companion is Sarah Jane: brilliant, but always getting abandoned on Earth!


	3. A Treasure Hunt

“Drop the frame rate another thirty percent, Friday -- just enough to -- yeah, that’s perfect,” Tony Stark sighed heavily, smiling up at the heavily moulded ceiling above him. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it stuck out at all angles, before reaching up to point at the chandelier above him. “I’d like to point everyone’s attention to the rendering on that thing. Took me a good twenty minutes. Round of applause, people, we did good here.”

Around him, the crowd continued to swirl and socialise, clinking glasses and murmuring to each other in soft, muted voices. The sky had darkened beyond the wide bay windows, but the room still glowed with a soft golden light. 

Across the room, Cap and Natasha stood by the chocolate fondue fountain, laughing about something with his mother. Bruce occupied one of the lounge chairs in the corner. It sounded like he was shyly proposing some kind of new schematic to Pepper, who sat listening with a gentle smile on her face. 

It was, of course, far from perfect. He felt a rush of pride nonetheless. 

_ “Sir, you have a couple of guests in the lobby _ .” Friday said.  _ “Should I open the coms, or are you still on vacation?” _

Tony squinted at the edge of the large persian rug that lay opposite the fireplace, leaning forward to study its texture. “Eh. Where’s Rhodey?”

_ “Colonel Rhodes left the facility four days ago, Mr Stark.” _

At this, Tony looked up. “What? Is he ok?”

_ “He’s continuing to recuperate, sir. He’s gone to stay with his mother in Detroit.”  _

“Right,” Tony muttered. He looked at his watch; 3:45 AM. Naptime, maybe. “It’s coming back to me now. Something about me, something about erratic behaviour, unhealthy environment, yada yada.” 

“ _ Would you like me to pull up the security footage of your last conversation, Mr Stark?” _

“Nah, it’s cool. Probably better to just...” Tony swept one final glance at the room, feeling distracted. “End simulation.” 

The graceful ballroom disassembled itself around him, revealing the bare concrete of the workshop beneath. He took off the Mark VI headset and grabbed a tablet from a nearby bench, scanning through his notes. Rendering, polygon count, texturization of soft fabrics… all improved, but nowhere near market level yet. If he could just work out how to increase the  _ size  _ of the memory…

_ “Sir?” _

“What? I’m fine, I’m totally awake,” Tony blinked hard, hitting a few buttons on the tablet at random. “If I wasn’t, could I do  _ this? _ ”

He typed out a quick string of commands. Abruptly, the lights went out. 

Tony frowned. “Wait, no. Hang on.” 

_ “Sir,” _ Friday sounded more emphatic this time, at least by an AI’s standards. As if to emphasize, the backup generator kicked in and the lights flickered back on.  _ “Your visitors?” _

“Right. On it.” Tony exited the workshop, making his way down the wide, sparsely decorated corridor toward the lobby. God, this place was depressing. He wondered if Nick Fury ever went in for statement wall decor. He should get Pepper in, she’d know what to do. “Wait, who are these randos again, and what are they doing here?”

_ “Jane Foster, prominent astrophysicist, and Loki Laufeyson, former prince of Asgard.” _

Tony stopped dead in his tracks. 

Friday carried on, apparently oblivious.  _ “Ms Foster apologises for dropping in like this unannounced, Sir. She also thought you’d be sleeping. Am I to assume they’ve never met you before?” _

He swallowed. “Don’t appreciate the judgement, Friday. Um. Former? Never had the pleasure. Latter? Uh.”

_ "Sir, are you feeling alright?” _

Tony padded noiselessly towards the glass doors that lead into the shadowy lobby, lingering against the outside wall. “Fine. It’s fine. Why do you ask?”

_ “You’ve activated your wrist gauntlets. Am I to understand that Loki Laufeyson is still to be considered a priority threat? It’s just that my records indicate that he is deceased.”  _

“Might have to tinker a little with your logic processing, Fri,” Tony breathed, slipping through the doorway. “It needs a little --  _ don’t move! _ ”

A woman he recognised from a couple of astrophysics conference talks looked up, startled, as he spoke. Beside her, his eyes fixed on Tony, very little changed from that day in New York, stood Loki. 

“Mr Stark,” the woman -- Jane Foster, of course, _ now  _ he recognised her -- seemed to disregard the repulsor beams aimed in her approximate vicinity. “I know this is a bit unexpected. I’m afraid I didn’t have any better ideas.” 

“One of you had better start talking, because I’m alone here --” Tony paused. On second thoughts, it maybe would’ve been better not to lead with that. “But I’m expecting Vision back any second. Y’know, rainbow robot man? He’s got your crystal of destiny, by the way,” he glared at Loki, circling around the edge of the room. Authority. And (some of) his Iron Man suit. He had this. “Not that we’d thought you’d miss it. Where’s Thor?”

“For one of us to start talking, hadn’t you better stop?” Loki said, after a moment’s tense silence. 

Tony gritted his teeth. Before he could snap out a retort, Jane interjected hastily. 

“Asgard.” She held up her hands, as if trying to stem a brewing fight. “Thor sent Loki here to find something and bring it back.”

“Hang on,” Tony took a hesitant step forward, trying to get a better look at her in the dim light. “How do I know he hasn’t made  _ you _ into one of his minions? Quick, give me a potted synopsis of the latest season of Game of Thrones. It’s the only way to be sure, lady.” 

In his peripheral vision, he watched Loki sigh. “Are all of your kind so neurotic? Stark, as you said yourself so eloquently, I no longer have the scepter. Humankind remains regrettably out of my control.”

Tony only glowered at him. The repulsors glowed on his palms, still held defensively aloft. 

“For all the realms,” Loki muttered, striking out a hand. In the corner of the room, the large grand piano hovered a few feet in the air before dropping with a resounding thud onto the concrete floor. “There. Had I wanted to cause you injury, suffice to say…” he let the sentence trail off with an elegant, indifferent hand gesture. 

Tony had forgotten how smooth Loki could be, when he felt in control of a situation. 

After a beat, Tony’s hands fell to his sides. He jerked a gauntleted thumb at the piano. “I’ll make sure Fury bills you for that.” 

He tapped at a few controls at each wrist, and the armour folded itself back into unobtrusive cuffs once more. 

Loki ignored this. “I would have preferred to keep this excursion  _ Avenger-free _ ,” he said this last in a low, impatient hiss. “But Ms Foster here has need of you.”

“Aw, just her? You sure?” Tony smirked. Loki didn’t. 

In an extremely calculated gesture, he turned his back on them entirely, heading in the direction the complex’s living quarters. 

“So. You’re on a treasure hunt. For what, exactly?”  
  


 

\--

  
  


Fifteen minutes later they were sitting around the kitchen island. Well, Tony and Jane were; Loki had elected to remain standing. He leaned, arms crossed, at the head of the table, and remained mostly silent as Jane explained the situation. 

“So,” Jane wrapped her hands around her coffee, “After Loki said he couldn’t remember where he gave away the ring, it made me think of something. That new technology you’ve been developing, memory reconstruction and augmentation? Can it recreate memories with a high degree of accuracy?”

Tony stalled a little, tapping his fingers against the edge of his own coffee mug. “Little fuzzy on a few details, huh.”

“It’s what generally happens, after one and half thousand years.” Loki snapped. 

“No kidding,” Tony pushed back his stool, shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered over to the window so that the others couldn’t make note of his interest. “So, you have the one ring to rule them all, you lost it somewhere on Middle Earth, Thor wants it back, got it.” He paused. “What’s in it for me?”

After a tense stretch of silence, it was Loki who spoke. 

“It is said.” He sounded close, too close. Tony caught his reflection at his shoulder, startled. He’d managed to creep up on him completely soundlessly. “That this ring has the power to grant its owner their greatest wish. That it can mend bonds torn asunder by irreconcilable differences and allow its wearer to look into the hearts of mortal men.” 

He couldn’t possibly _ know,  _ but Tony found himself avoiding the reflection of Loki’s gaze nonetheless. “I stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.”

_ “What about hope?” _ Loki’s voice now rang strangely, like he was speaking directly into Tony’s mind. Telekinesis, great. _ “A device to peel back the endless layers of corruption, miscommunication and confusion, to expose the cold light of truth for all to see. Is this not what you desire?” _

With great effort, Tony managed to wrench himself away from the window, pushing past Loki and returning to the relative safety of the kitchen island. He took a sip of coffee, trying to seem unaffected.

Loki looked entirely unapologetic about the whole thing. He merely caught Tony’s gaze and held it, calm and level. “What say you, Stark?”

“Actually, to be honest?” Tony set his cup down, running a hand through his hair and grinning. Sleep could wait. “You had me at magic ring. When do we start?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel puts Loki's age at just over 1000 years, but I had to put the ring drop off time at around 500 AD, so. Yes.
> 
> Tony and Loki in the same place as well, finally. The bickering begins!


	4. The Science of Memory

Jane and Loki followed him back down the shadowy hallway. Tony submitted himself to the retinal scan before putting his thumb on the touchpad. He winked at them, holding the door so that they could slip past him unencumbered.

_ “Sir,” _ Friday interjected.  _ “Ms Foster and Mr Laufeyson don’t have clearance --” _

“Then keep it on the DL.” Tony glanced out into the corridor, feeling restless. “Just -- tell Viz I’m passed out on the couch, ok? It’ll be fine.”

_ “Of course,” _ his AI didn’t sound all that convinced.  _ “Mr Stark?”  _

Tony let the door slide closed behind him. “Yeah?”

_ “Be careful. Pre-decease, Mr Laufeyson was a level five on SHIELD’s watchlist.” _

He shrugged a little to himself, taking long strides to catch up with his visitors, who had wandered through into the workshop proper without him. Whatever. Look at SHIELD now. Look at all of them. 

He was pretty sure  _ he  _ was on that watchlist somewhere, anyway. 

“And this is your inner sanctum?” Loki caught his eye, tilting his head back to take in the heavy, exposed wiring covering the ceiling. “I think not much of it.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Tony said mildly. He retreated behind the desk setup in the corner of the room, closing all extraneous files on the holographic display. 

After a couple of minutes he noticed Jane watching, fascinated. At least  _ somebody _ seemed impressed with his setup here; it was, after all, something of a work in progress. She followed Tony to the desktop, while Loki lingered back, coming to a standstill in the centre of the room. 

“Retro-Framing Bioware,” she said after a moment. “Computer science isn’t exactly my field of expertise, but this stuff isn’t on the consumer market yet, is it?”

“Not as such,” Tony muttered. He’d have to recalibrate the whole thing, but at least his object of recalibration was right where he wanted him. “Kind of… untested. Just --” he raised his voice a little, addressing Loki. “Stand there, ok? Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

Loki shrugged elegantly, but Tony could tell he was tense. His whole body remained still; only his eyes moved to track their movements back and forth behind the desktop. 

The data streams began piling up, spawning window after window on the display. The blue glow grew so thick it began to obscure Loki from their field of vision; after a few minutes, Jane stopped trying to take readings and stepped back, shaking her head. “This is hopeless.”

Tony swore loudly. The metallic strap of his wrist cuff clanged against the steel work surface, and he caught Jane’s flinch. “Sorry,” he rubbed a hand over his face, closing his eyes for a moment. “I just. Sorry.”

He reached out to sweep away the data readings. “Truth is, I meant it when I said untested. I thought I could re-calibrate it… I guess there’s a difference between road testing new tech on yourself and expecting it to extrapolate reams of foreign data.” He met Loki’s gaze, rueful. “That’s you, by the way.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been levelled with worse accusations.” 

“Don’t doubt it,” Tony muttered. “Point is, unless I can somehow remember your memories  _ for  _ you, or some other such insanity…” he looked up then, and squinted at Loki’s expression. “What? No. No, I don’t like that look.”

Loki smiled. Tony didn’t like it. “Fortunately, Tony Stark, such insanity is quite within my capabilities.” 

 

\--

  
  


“So  _ he _ remembers,” Jane pointed her stylus at Loki, making a note in a document folder Tony had entitled ‘Project Fellowship’ -- a working title. “And then he does the magic thing, so that  _ you  _ remember it along with him. And then the BARF tech can reconstruct the memory around both of you, allowing Friday to pinpoint your location!” 

_ “Thank god for Google Satellite mapping, Ms Foster.”  _ Friday said. 

Tony pointed up at the ceiling, grinning around at Jane and Loki. “A joke! Kinda! You’re doing great Fri, I think we’ve got enough sensors now.”

“What are these?” Loki held up the headset Tony had given him, turning it in his hands to examine it from every angle. “If they are to reach into my mind, it is not necessary. I will share with you all that is needed.”

“Uh uh, big guy. If I’m going into this, you’re coming with me.” Tony pretended to adjust some trailing wiring over the floor, before fiddling with his own headset. “‘Sides, I’ve never exactly done this before. My memories have all been... remixes. If we’re gonna play your greatest hits, we’re gonna do it my way.” 

Jane gave them a thumbs up when the display panel whirred to life, and holographic tiles started to build themselves up around Tony and Loki. “It looks good from up here!”

“So no mockery from your corner?” Tony murmured. He swung around to face Loki, sliding his headset on as he did so. “Cause I couldn’t do this alone. Huh. Maybe friendship _ is  _ the real magic.”

Loki’s lip curled back. From a distance, it probably looked like he was grinning at Tony rather than bearing his teeth. “Mockery seems a little counterproductive, at this point. And I wouldn’t mistake any of this for  _ friendship. _ ”

“Don’t worry,” Tony adjusted his stance, trying not to recoil from Loki’s fingers as he reached out and touched either side of his head. “I’m really not.”

He didn’t get a chance to hear Loki’s response. His head abruptly flooded with vague, dreamlike images; the splash of a fish tail against the still water of a lake, a pale, looming face, the glimmer of a hidden pile of gold. He swore he could feel the cold, gritty wind against his face, hear the cries of the wheeling birds overhead, feel the spear in his hand as the humans spoke in an unfamiliar yet comprehensible tongue around him. 

Tony wretched himself out of it, gasping, blinking, anticipating the soft, familiar blue glow against the concrete workshop. 

Instead, he found himself standing by a wide river winding its way through a desolate valley. The wind whistled through the trees around them, and from his -- Loki’s \-- memory of it, it chilled straight through to the bone.

“Looks like… the middle of nowhere?” Tony muttered, but he quickly realised his companion wasn’t paying attention. 

He turned, following Loki’s line of vision until he noticed a small group standing at the riverbank. “Woah, is that  _ Odin? _ ”

“He ordered me to repay the humans for taking the life of one -- Ottr.” Loki pointed to the small, drenched body of an otter lying at the edge of the group. “I saw Odin’s desire for the ring, but fortunately the gold payment had to be… exact.”

Tony watched as a figure emerged from the back of the group, taking a small object from Odin’s hands and kneeling to lay it on the otter’s body, pressing a hand to his chest in what looked like a respectful gesture to the watching humans. 

There were two young men in the group with solemn, wind burnt faces and rough linen shirts, and an older man who conversed with Odin in a low voice. But Tony was more interested in watching the young Loki. He wore a shirt like the humans, the colour of the reeds in the riverbed, and his hair was long and tied back with a leather band. 

“This was before your punk phase, yeah?” Tony smirked. 

Loki had that expression he’d seen on Thor a couple of times, like he knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite know how. “My youth saw me... quiet. Frequently contrite. Although I was barely two hundred, the humans knew not to whom they were speaking.”

Tony was silent for a moment, watching the young Loki straighten up in his supple leather boots and cast a glowing look toward his father. He knew that look all too well. It was a look that said  _ just happy to be here _ . A look he had worn himself, too many times. 

Present day Loki frowned beside him. “Is something wrong?” 

“No.” Tony looked away sharply, pretending to inspect the distant hillside. Huh. No signs of pixel degradation; the memory was holding steady. “It’s a good look on you. Wholesome…” He waved a vague hand at the party by the river, who were now heading their separate ways, the exchange made. 

Loki looked at him like he was crazy. “I hardly think that  _ I  _ \--”

Before he could finish, the remote hillscape flickered away, and the memory disintegrated around them. Tony took off his headset and gave Jane, who was still standing behind the desktop, a confused look.

“I don’t know!” Jane ran a hand through her hair, typing something frantically. “It was working, and then Friday said --”

_ “Sir, I’m afraid my efforts to stall the Vision failed. I was busy with triangulating the memory’s location, and he told me he knows what stalling for Mr Stark looks like, and he’s done it hundreds of --” _

“Ok!” Tony cut everyone off, casting a nervous glance toward the door. “Just -- give me a minute. Fri, did you get the location?”

_ “I did, Mr Stark. Setesdal, Norway.” _

“Right,” Tony strode the length of the room, drumming his fingers against the headset still clutched in his hand. “Ok. Great. Flight plan? I should make a flight plan.” Through the glass doors, he caught sight of a figure approaching through the darkness. “And -- gotta be honest -- that’s assuming we get out of here at all.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Edda, the Otter had to be completely covered with gold to repay the debt, and Odin had to hand over the ring because one whisker was showing!


	5. Peace Weaving

“Yes -- yes, I know. I _know_ \-- you’ve made that part very clear, Patrick. No -- I do understand. Ruffled feathers? Ok. He -- of course, I’d be happy for any further negotiations to be conducted through me. Absolutely --”

Pepper Potts waits at the edge of the curb, teetering a little in her heels (the phone call had caught her off guard; she can hardly hear anything above the traffic) and waiting for the lights to change. She’s holding a cardboard tray of coffee in her left hand, trying to keep her balance in the throng of commuters.

“That’s fantastic. Ok, well. Look out for my email, and I’ll see what I can do. I’m so sorry for -- well -- thank you. I try.” she laughs, short and clipped, striding across the road just as she spots her ride pulling up to the curb. “Goodbye, Patrick.”

“Ouch,” Happy catches her eye via the rearview mirror as she climbs in, sliding the phone into her purse. “That guy on your hit list or something?”

“ _He_ isn’t,” her eyes narrow, and she leans forward to pass him one of the coffee cups. “I’ll say no more.”

“I knew it. Viz told me Tony hasn’t left the workshop in -- like -- a month. He being weird to customers again?”

“Uh huh,” Pepper takes a miserable sip of her coffee. “Not in the insane extrovert way, either. I don’t know what it’s going to take to snap him out of this, Happy.”  

“Well, I wouldn’t worry. I’m pretty sure you just froze that guy on the phone. That’s your _corporate_ voice.”

“Hey, I’m very personable! That was my _people_ voice.”

“Yeah,” Happy says distractedly, overtaking a slow moving taxi. “Speaking of ice --”

“Nope. I do not want to hear it. We’re putting this in the book, Happy.”

“We’re gonna need a new book soon,” Happy mumbles, grinning. They’re still a couple of blocks away from the tower, but he slows the car, pulling up to the curb.“Ok if I drop you here? I have to run a quick errand.”

“It’s fine -- no, keep the coffee, it’s yours.” She opens the passenger door, waving him away when he tries to hand her the other cup. “Force of habit, huh?”

Happy grimaces. “Guess it’s a lot to get used to.”

“Not really. He’s over there, we’re still over _here_ \--” Pepper digs through her bag, finding her sunglasses and slipping them on. “He’s put up a perimeter around himself, I have to fight through six degrees of separation to get a word in -- what am I saying?” She grins at him, waving goodbye. “Nothing’s changed at all!”

  


\--

  


That last part may not have been entirely true. Pepper Potts is, for the first time in a long time, on top of things.

Her definition of ‘on top of things’ would likely not coalesce with many people’s definition of ‘on top of things’, but one always has to maintain perspective, and work with what they’re given. Decades of Tony-wrangling have taught her that, if nothing else.

But today is, _will be_ , different. She woke at 6:15 and fielded a series of emails from Maria Hill, General Ross, Jane Foster and Bruce Banner before getting out of bed. The debacle that was the Sokovia Accords has, for some reason, brought a lot of its fallout to her door.

Hill assures her that Stark Industries is in no way prepared to shoulder responsibility for the Avengers’ governmental relations, or mitigate any PR disasters they happen to create. She has told Pepper this, to varying effect, about seven times over the past few weeks. If she’s honest, it stopped reassuring her a while ago.

Her actual emails to Tony read approximately as they have always done: she sends one before opening her draft folder, just to check in:

 

_Tony,_

_The Ethics Committee feels it would be ill advised at this juncture to put as much pressure on North America’s stem-cell research facility as you suggested, nor do they condone your suggestion to ‘take our business to Korea, if we’re going to be so stick-in-the-mud about clinical trials, I’ll inject formula into my own goddamn arm if Rhodey can get his legs back’. I strongly support their stance in the matter, if you’re unclear about this._

_Best,_

_Pepper_

 

Her PA slips in through the door, smiles at her, and leaves a steaming coffee cup at her elbow. She likes Hamish; he has the gift of knowing just when to appear, and, more importantly, when to disappear.

She opens her latest email draft, the one she’d been working on last night.  

_I appreciate that the Avengers are in crisis, I really do. I want to help but I think it’s out of everyone’s hands this time, Tony. I don’t know what to do._ _You’re all scattered to the wind; Steve is AWOL, and so is Wanda._

_I need you back in New York. I know you don’t want to see me right now, but we need to work through this_ _ together. _

_Vision’s reports have everyone concerned, and with Rhodey gone I’m worried it’s only going to get worse. You’re blaming yourself for everything, for_ _ us, _ _and it’s not healthy._

_You and me, we didn’t work out, Tony. The Accords didn’t work out. Please don’t shut yourself off from everyone and everything because of it._

Pepper blinks, lost in thought, staring at the final, plaintive line.

_At least Natasha can take care of herself. I just wish she didn’t have to._

There’s a familiar ding; new mail. She bites her lip, closes the draft, and frowns at the screen.

The filter usually catches unlisted emails. Strange. There’s no subject line, either.

She clicks.

_Your PA is sweet, but you should probably give him intelligence training. It shouldn’t be that easy to get into your office._

Her body freezes. She doesn’t turn her head away from her computer, just slides her hand slowly under the desk, fingers brushing the edge of her panic button.

“Relax.”

From the corner of the room, a figure shifts beside the bookcase. Pepper’s eyes widen; Natasha hasn’t made any attempt at concealment.

It’s vaguely sinister; a moment before, the room had been, to all appearances, empty.

“You scared the _hell_ out of me,” Pepper snaps, drawing herself up out of her chair. Natasha just watches her, face imperceptible. “Most people make an appointment.”

“I just wanted to drop by.” Natasha’s eyes are tracing the lines of the desk, the shelves, the window. Searching for cameras, presumably. “I won’t be long.”

“Sit.” Pepper gestures towards the desk. Natasha perches on the edge of it; she herself leans against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms. “How can I help you today?”

“You look tired.” Natasha’s attention is on her now. She frowns, resisting the urge to get up, clutch her coffee, do something with her hands.

“I’ve had a lot on my plate,” Pepper says stiffly. She exhales, suddenly angry. “Where have you _been?_ ”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. Checking in.”

“What?”

“You know I don’t just come here for the minimalist decor, right?” Something like a smile flickers on Natasha’s face. Pepper finds herself wanting to smile back. “You’ve been very helpful these past few months, but we can’t keep doing this. Tony’s not off grid like the rest of them, but he might as well be. I want to talk to him, face to face. I came here to ask if that’s ok with you.”

She knows what Natasha’s really asking; whether, in her opinion, Tony’s ready for whatever’s coming.

Pepper shakes her head. So, apparently _this_  is her day. “And if it’s not?”

Natasha’s expression barely flickers. “It’s going to take a serious level of peace weaving to salvage anything of what we have left here,” she gestures around them before leaning close, a lock of hair brushing Pepper’s ear. “And I can’t think of anyone to match your unique credentials.”

Pepper twists away. “Whatever… experience I have, that does not equate to -- to -- _this!_ There are some things you just can’t fix, no matter how much you want to!”

“I know.” Natasha turns, making her way over to the door. She pauses on the threshold. “And I’m sorry. I really didn’t think it would come to this.” Biting her lip, she stares beyond Pepper’s shoulder out of the window, out over the bustling landscape of New York. “You’d be surprised, though. What you can come back from.”  

Before Pepper can figure out what the hell to say to _that,_ she’s out of the door, vanished as soundlessly as she came.

 

\--

 

_To: unlisted@hotbox.com_  
  
  
_Ok. I’m going to regret this, I can feel it in my bones._

_But. Ok._

 

\--

 

_To: CEOPotts@StarkIndustries.com_   
  


_Thank you. In that case, I’ll be seeing you soon._

  


**Author's Note:**

> The ring Loki and Thor are talking about is Andvaranaut, the ring Loki takes from the dwarf Andvari in Snorri's Edda. Any mention of 'otter payment' or 'strife metal' refers to Loki paying this guy Hreidmar with gold (and the ring) in compensation for accidentally killing his son. (In Loki's defence, the son literally was an otter at the time.)
> 
> I'll be kind of moulding a lot of mythological elements to fit into the Marvel Cinematic Universe so sorry, it's not going to be entirely reflective of the actual mythology! 
> 
> The title is from the Robert Burns poem ‘To a Mouse’.


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